


7 Days to Valentine's Day

by HolySnowflake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:16:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolySnowflake/pseuds/HolySnowflake
Summary: On 7th February the 17-years-old Mycroft Holmes opens his locker and finds a mysterious note.





	7 Days to Valentine's Day

 

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Mycroft got the note one week before Valentine’s Day. He saw no adressor. A poem and it was as simple as interesting. The red haired, well-dressed seventeen-year-old had been thinking about it for three hours and 37 minutes now. Since he had found it in his locker this morning.

 _Valentine’s Day_  
_Not too far away._  
_Are you just to shy_  
_to give it a try?_  
_And if you risk it_  
_It’s not too late_  
_You’ll have a date._  
_Are you interested?_  
_\- L_

That ominous 'L' obviously wanted him to find out who he was. It seemed like they didn’t dare to ask him personally. Was L male or female? If L was a ‚she‘, did she know he wasn’t attracted to girls? If L was a ‘he’, did he really mean it or was he just joking? And how would he know that he liked boys? Mycroft had no idea and that made him angry. Of course he tried not to show it but he was more tensed than usual and his concentration on the school subjects was affected. This was the reason why he never solved riddles during schooltime or allowed himself to get involved in emotional situations. He had worked a lot to make his classmates think he really was that cold.

But now this had happened. The letter was there, he was trying to put the bits of information together and to top it all his classmates of course had chosen that particular day to talk about Valentine's dates and he couldn't stop listening. He would take a closer look on the letter as soon as he was home. But first he’d have to live through the day in school. And to manage it he needed a break to smoke.

As he disappeared behind a corner he wasn’t surprised to find four other teens there. There was Bill who just smoked because he was bored. And Mel, who somehow became Bill’s best friend and started smoking because of him – she still didn’t believe that it were the cigarettes that caused her coughing and the fact that she suddenly couldn’t hold the right tones in her singing parts in the choir. Then there was Dean, the part time student from the United States. He wasn’t a smoker but he once told them that the best place to get new gossip was where the smokers were so he decided to stick with them. He also dealt with cigs and always had a lighter with him. He seemed a bit strange but everyone got along with him and he was quite handsome. And then there was one of the punks. His name was Greg and Mycroft had known him for about 6 years now. He had changed a lot in this time. His brown short hair had grown long first, then he had dyed it blue, cut it short, got himself a side cut, there were two earrings on one ear and a nose piercing and of course the smoking. Instead of trenchcoats and warm jackets he only wore leather jackets since he was 15. Right now Gregory sat on the ground, looked almost like a living cliché and took a long drag. He smoothed the light blue side of his sidecut down. On the short side Mycroft saw his natural haircolour. This was actually most surprising as he usually did his best to hide it. When they were younger Greg told him that he didn't like the colour at all. Mycroft hadn't told him that he thought Greory's hair was actually very suitable. So soon after their conversation his natural colour disappeared.

„Hey, Mycie“ Greg greeted him casually. Mycroft swallowed a sharp comment about the nickname and took a pack out of his coat pocket. He couldn't change it anyways. Mel's real name seemed to be too long for the others as well and she accepted it easily. If he complained they'd just start making fun of it. As Mycroft put his cigarette in his mouth, Dean lit it up. Mycroft shortly looked in his eyes and nodded thankfully.

Mycroft greeted them politely and then he took a drag. He coughed. It was always the same. The others were amused.

Mel looked at him sympathically: „You’re stressed again, huh?“

„Again? He’s always stressed. He’s Mycroft Holmes“ Bill corrected her with a teasing smile on his lips.

"Nah, only when he comes over." Mel decided to put it right.  
Mycroft managed a tight smile.

He got used to their comments as he heard similar everytime he joined them. At first he had been afraid of them. But as this was the only place where the students were inofficially allowed to smoke he had no other option than staying with them. And apparently they seemed to be good company. First there were just Gregory, Bill and he himself. Later Mel had joined them. When Dean came along Mycroft had been sceptical. But he couldn't change anything about him and had to get used to him, just as to be called 'Mycie'and to those comments but at least he could consider them 'friends'. At least he could say he had a nice talk with his friends, when his mother asked him about his day. For him Bill, Mel, Dean and also Greg were just good company while he had a relaxing smoke. His relationship with Greg had been closer once but somehow they stopped meeting after school.

It had happened slowly. At first they had met a few times a week, then two times a week, then they saw each other just once a week in a course they had together. And after Mycroft had been to France with his family for three weeks the meetings had stopped completely. Greg had found other friends and Mycroft decided to focus on school rather than friendships. That was more than a year ago now. By now both of them only met while they were smoking.

"Mycroft?"

He flinched as he heard his full name in a more serious tone and looked in the direction where it came from. He saw Greg's eyes lighten up a bit at his reaction: "You're still here then." Mycroft could hear amusement in his voice.

"Of course I am… I was just thinking."

"What about?" Greg asked curiously. The inquisitive look on his face was still the same as years ago when they first met. Seeing it always made Mycroft feel slightly happier and calmer - and he felt closer to him again. But not for long. He was still aware of the others so he just waved it off with a weak gesture of his free hand. He took another drag.

"Same as always. You don't have to ask me. It's not interesting."

"You're here to calm down. How can you think about boring stuff anyway? We're here. How about you'll stop thinking at all? I'd die to see that!" Mel taunted and leaned against the wall next to him. Mycroft smiled at them again, trying to look more at ease. They started their usual gossip. Mycroft was more listening than talking. He left five minutes before the bell rang. Enough time for him to get ready for the next class.

After dinner Mycroft finished his homework, checked on his little brother and got ready to go to bed. He laid down, put on the small lamp and began to read the poem over and over again. L. Who was L? Who did he know with the name L? Lisa, Lorie - they were in their last school year, both one year older than he was, but they often asked him for help in school. He was known for being a good student and he didn't hide he was very clever. But he doubted that either of them would write a poem for him. Loona or Lacy from the theatre club… they obviously liked poems and they would be good in hiding their emotions. At least Lacy could propably be a potential actress. But which boys with L did he know?

Lucas - No.  
Lance - Hopefully not.  
Lenny - He wasn't even able to finish a simple sentence, how would he be able to write poems?  
Leo or Lester - both boys in his class. They barely ever spoke to him. Leo looked quite handsome. But nothing compared to Dean or Greg.

Mycroft shook his head to get rid of all the thoughts which were circling around as he kept reading it over again. His eyes closed and he fell asleep, still holding the letter in his hands.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_

<>

Greg threw some money into the donation box for the prom he and his class had to organize. It was early enough that nobody would see him. He still felt kind of nervous. Not because he worried about damaging his image of the careless punk who never was interested in anyone than himself – he really didn’t give a toss about that. More about the thing he planned to do. If Mycroft came just five minutes earlier he had no chance to finish any of it. And that would be embaressing. Not talking to him properly for … months – for years now and suddenly standing in front of his locker with a rose and a piece of paper. He knew that Mycroft loved riddles. And what was more mysterious than a secret admirer? He licked his lips while he opened the locker. Luckily Mycroft hadn’t changed the code. He must have thought that nobody would care about his locker. What else was in there aside from homework? – Right, nobody would open a locker just for books.  
And now there also was the rose and a note, which said:

 _I thought I’d remind you again._  
_Do you have any idea who I am already?_  
_I hope you like my little present. - L x_

  
<>

This day was even worse than the day before. Mycroft saw almost every person with a red rose in their hand distracting him so much that he even ran into someone. He murmured a short excuse and kept going. He felt something was off but as the feeling was constantly there since the day before he pushed it away and opened his locker. There was his rose. Everybody seemed to get one. But why he? Slowly he took the rose and saw a small paper wrapped around it. He unfolded the note and almost let both fall to the ground. L again. It shouldn't surprise him because L was constantly on his mind and he evidently tried to make Mycroft more curious. He stared at the text, not really sure how to react. He felt his heartbeat getting faster and realised that it was excitement. He noticed the thrill and anger and doubt. It all mixed up and made it even harder to think clearly. He put the rose back in the locker and went to the classes, while he put the note in the small chest pocket in his school uniform. The lesson began and he started writing down all names beginning with L he knew on a separate paper. He only let out those who were too young. Then he started to cross out the ones who had a boyfriend or a girlfriend and wouldn't cheat on them. After that was done he had a break, which he decided to spend outside again. It would distract him from the unsatisfying result of his examination.

The sun was shining and for February it was quite warm outside. Mycroft went behind the corner and noticed the usual group. Mel was holding a bouquet of roses. She counted them and with every new number she handed another flower to Dean, who seemed more self-confident about himself with every rose she passed over. Bill was grinning at them and Greg seemed to be more tensed than he usually was. Maybe because he technically shouldn't be there and smoke while everyone else in his class was selling roses.

"Nine, ten… twelve… fifteen roses! Dean, what the hell have you done? I mean - how?"

"I dunno, they might just like that I'm from so far away, never wear the uniform and I had a few dates this year…" he admitted and made a dismissive guesture with his hand.

"And who will you ask out?" Mel asked with a knowing smile. She surely just wanted him to say the name she was thinking about.

Mycroft suppressed a groan. Yesterday he had been so glad that they hadn’t talked about Valentine's Day and dating. Apparently he had crowed too soon. He changed his mind and without saying a word disappeared again. Relaxing wasn't possible there.

He didn't see the sad look on Greg's face as he left without even greeting him.

When Mycroft came back in his class he took his list again and continued his work from before. Now he crossed out everyone who wasn’t talented or clever enough to write poems. Suddenly he had an idea and he stopped within his action. Both notes were hand written. He took them out of his pockets and placed them next to each other.

A smug smile spread on his face and he started to cross out every girl on the list. This was definitely written by a male and now he felt his heart beat speed up again.

His smile didn't fade for the rest of the school day. Luckily nobody noticed it - he wasn't in the mood for long explanations why someone with his reputation was suddenly smiling! Because how would he explain his situation to anyone? They'd probably think he was an idiot for that excitement.

At least he'd think that, if someone told him a story like this.

Before he went home he put his books in the locker and decided to take the rose with him, maybe it would look good on his desk.

On his way out he passed Greg who was talking to his classmates. Mycroft started walking slower to listen what they were discussing.

"… and you haven't helped us to sell the roses at lunch break." the class representative - Sam - complained.

"I helped in every other break" Greg justified: "It was also Lee's idea, why doesn't he take care of them? Or at least helps me?"

"He's gone, Greg. And I doubt he'll come back just because of the roses before tomorrow. Come on, be a man and do something useful with the rest of them." Sahra was obviously annoyed. She took Sam's arm and stormed off, leaving the vase filled with red flowers to Greg.

Mycroft couldn't see Greg's face from the angle but he was sure he wasn't very pleased with this solution. For a moment he stood there and watched the boy who had been his only friend once. Then he decided to leave before Greg noticed him and it could turn into a more awkward situation.

He had a new hint now. Greg said that it was also Lee's idea to sell roses. So maybe he had solved the puzzle now?

When he was home he started researching about Lee. It wasn't much he could find out but enough to blight his earlier confidence. From the way Lee was writing blogs and posts he seemed more shy than anything else. He definitely could have written a poem but the second note seemed too defiant for a boy like him. He leaned back and stared at the rose on his desk for a few minutes. For today he decided to give up. He spent some time with Sherlock and helped him to finish an experiment he had wanted to try out for days now.  
Laying in bed he calmed the nascenting thoughts about L with the hope to find a new little note in his locker the next day.

_*_*_*_*_*_

<>

Greg was slightly frustrated about the next poem. The thing with the roses made him doubt if it was worth it. Maybe 'L' was too short for him to get who he was? Greg brushed his hair back and put the pen to paper again.

 _Roses are red_  
_Violets are blue_  
_I don't like roses anymore_  
_How about you?_

Greg shook his head. That wasn't good and had nothing to do with Mycroft. Maybe…

 _Roses are red_  
_Violets are blue_  
_This poem is a cliché_  
_Very unlike you._

Maybe he should think about something better. He took his guitar and started to play while he was waiting for an idea to hit him.  
<>

When Mycroft opened the locker he was ready to find another note. But there was nothing. Now he felt slightly irritated. There were so many possibilities why L hadn't leave a note in his locker that he used the way to the classroom going through every single one coming to his mind.

It had been a joke all the time.

He wasn’t interested anymore.

He just came too late and the note will be there when he'd look in the locker next time.

He had no idea what to write anymore.

He just gave it up?

But as he arrived at his desk he saw a small piece of paper on top of it. He just put it on his table. Mycroft put down his bag next to him, sat down and took the paper to read the note.

Please tick what you want me to do next:

Tell you more of my name.                        □  
Give you a hint where to find me.              □  
You don't want any help from me.             □  
You want me to stop giving you notes.      □

L

Whoever this guy was, he definitely didn't want him to stop now. He looked at the paper and thought about the other three. On the one hand, he wanted to find out who he was on his own. He was so close. On the other hand a hint of his name would be useful. He tapped his nose with his pen a few times before he set one tick.

This day his concentration was better than the days before. He didn't feel like going out for a smoke that day. He had to finish work of two days, now that his mind was clear again.

When the classes were finally over he packed his things together and made his way out of the class. The note from L was still lying on his desk, waiting to be taken by it's writer again.

Mycroft arrived at home and went straight to his room as he always did. Mycroft sat on desk again. Staring at the notes, then on the rose, then back at the notes. He raised it closer to his eyes, held it over a light assuming there might be another – a hidden – message. He didn't see anything. Also the times he just had put the notes carelessly in his pocket had left wrinkles in the paper. He surely would regret the decision one day but he felt like it was worth a try.

He went to his brother's room, the third time this week. Two notes in his hand. It was something he usually wouldn't do but his brother was a quite clever boy himself and liked deducing things almost more than Mycroft did. Maybe Sherlock would have an idea Mycroft couldn't think off? He knocked two times and opened the door.

"Sherlock?"

"Mycie?"

"How about playing a game?"

"What kind of game?" the small boy with the black curls looked up from his book. The book was called “The Science of Bees” and it was a book Mycroft had given him for his eleventh birthday.

"It's about finding out as much as possible about a person who wrote notes. Like our deduction game."

Sherlock's face lit up, he looked down on his book and closed it. Carefully he put it aside and jumped up. "Show me." he demanded.

Mycroft gave him the notes.

"What do you know about him already?" He looked up at Mycroft again eagerly.

"I know the writer is male, talented in writing poems, maybe even other kinds of texts-"

"A musician."

"I'm not sure about that. He must be my age or slightly older."

"At least you hope he is your age, because you like him?" Sherlock asked curiously. Mycroft didn’t reply but as he felt his ears and cheeks get warm he felt strangely caught. He cleared his throat. “What else can you find out from looking at the notes?”

“Do they smell like something?” Sherlock asked and took the notes from Mycroft’s hands, sniffing. He pulled a face: “He smokes. And I can smell either aftershave or parfume… I can't find out what exactely just from the paper." He passed the notes over to his brother again: "Did you know he's smoking?"

Mycroft shook his head. This was something he hadn't found out yet. Sherlock grinned smugly. He was cleverer than his brother!

“Anything else I can help you to find out?” Sherlick asked and went back to his bed to make himself comfortable there again. He took his book again but didn't keep on reading yet.

Mycroft shook his head again: “No, thank you, Sherlock. This was enough I needed to know. - Did you learn anything new about the bees?”

“Yes. There were plenty of things I haven't known yet. Statistics for example. And do you know how much bees and humans have in common? Like when they are flying and looking for nectar their brain function is similar to ours when we are curious or are exploring something.”

Mycroft nodded and leaned against the wall next to the door. He didn't want to stay longer than needed but they were still talking and he cared for his brother. "Anything else?"

“Oh yes. I can't believe that so many people don't care about their disappearing... When I'm older I think I will be a beekeeper, you know, if being a pirat won't work for me.” Mycroft saw a twinkle in Sherlock's eyes. Seeing him happy was one of not so many things which made himself feel glad.

“You know I will help you to become whatever you want?” Mycroft asked with a small smile. Sentiment about his brother started to grow in his chest, he couldn't hide it.

“Only because I helped you with L?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft was sure he understood how it was meant but now there was the moment in which his brother decided to ask inconvenient questions.

“Of course not, Sherlock. You know that.” Mycroft said a bit more sternly now.

“Will you tell me who L is when you found out?”

“I don't know. Depends on how important L is.”

“So if you don't like him you won't introduce him to me but when you like him you will?”

“Obviously.” Mycroft said shortly and opened the door, leaving the room. He was almost fleeing, not willing to answer more questions, yet.

Now he had to cross out everyone who wasn't actually smoking. In school there was no person with L who was smoking. But after school? He sniffed on the paper himself as well and nodded slightly. Yes, there was a very faint smell of cold smoke. Sherlock really had a good nose. He was proud of his brother and ashamed of himself. How could he miss that?

<>

After Greg was sure that everyone had left the class he sneaked in. Nervously he went to Mycroft's table. And there it was, placed at the same spot where he left it, but with a tick more than before.

 _Give you a hint where to find me. -_ Tick.

_*_*_*_*_

If he was honest with himself Greg had never thought Mycroft would choose this answer. Greg didn't want to make it easy for Mycroft. On the other hand Mycroft seemed desperate already to find out who he was. He hadn't expected the younger to give up so fast. It was only the third day. Now he needed to find a place where he was every day. Also there had to be more than just him but not too many people, so Mycroft still had the chance to see him. The bus stop? It wasn't the most romantic place to meet one's love but it still was better than nothing. More than that, actually. It was a crowded place so that Mycroft would see him without immediately realising that he was the writer of the notes.

 _I take the bus at 3:40 PM every day. Come to the bus stop._  
_And if you are brave enough, why don't you talk to me?_  
_I hope we see each other today._

_– L x_

Just when he was about to go to bed he groaned. Especially that day he wouldn't be at that damn bus stop! It was Saturday. Greg sat up and ripped the note apart.

This happened to be harder than he had imagined before. As he mindlessly pulled the strings of his guitar a smile spread on his face. That seemed to be a good idea.

 _Are you still playing the piano sometimes?_  
_I know you used to do._  
_I'd suggest you to visit the Music store in 11 Denmark St._  
_Maybe you'll find something appealing there._  
_I'll be there by 2 PM._

_– L x_

Now Greg felt quiet content. He went to bed, setting an alarm to wake up early the next day.

The next morning Greg took his guitar and went over to the Holmes house. He stood there for a few minutes. It wasn't too hard. He just had to put the small letter in the Holmes' mailbox before they'd take the post in. How easy it would be just to ring the doorbell instead and ask to visit Mycroft.

Or just to throw little stones against his window to wake him and make him come down for a ride on his motorcycle... The whole damn thing would be over very soon. He wouldn't have to wait until Valentine's Day. He was getting impatient.

Greg pulled a face. Again, giving up wouldn't be good for either of them. He had started it. Mycroft had to end this himself. Even if it got harder and harder each day for Greg to wait.

Greg went back to his parent's flat and decided to take another three hours of sleep before he would pack his guitar and leave to the store. It was one of his favourites. Also it wasn't in Soho what didn't seem like the best place to meet his date either. (If it even counted as a date.)

A few hours later Greg Lestrade stood in the Early Music Shop. He was going to spend a lot of time there that day, waiting and hoping for Mycroft to come in and notice him. And maybe then he'd understand.

<>

Mycroft woke up quite late that day. Falling asleep was harder knowing that he wouldn't get any notes before school started again. At least it was quite improbable that L knew where he lived. But L also knew he was homosexual and he didn't tell many people about his preferences. L seemed to know him for a while now. So it wasn't that impossible for him?

He felt something like hope blooming in his chest but he also began to get nervous. Because he wanted to find L. To find out who had the nerves to keep this going on without the intention to fool him.

Mycroft went downstairs to get himself some breakfast. When he arrived at the kitchen he noticed Sherlock was already there and he had a small note in his hands. The book about the bees lay next to him and Sherlock grinned up at Mycroft. A mishievous twinkle in his eyes: “Have something for you, Mycie.” He said as soon as Mycroft entered the room and held the note up to show it to his big brother. “And I also found out who wrote it.”

Mycroft took the letter: “You know who 'L' is?” He asked. He hadn't looked at the letter yet closely distracted by Sherlock's comment.

“Yes.” He smiled widely: “I saw him this morning.”

“Who-” Mycroft stopped himself. First, Sherlock never would tell him who L without Mycroft giving him something in return and the second reason for it was the desire to find it out on his own.

“You must find out yourself, brother dear. It's your pleasure.” He said and jumped off from his chair. Sherlock left the kitchen fast and went outside.

Mycroft assumed he was going to look if he'd find something interesting to keep himself busy with. Sherlock hated weekends. He often had to stay at home and was bored, because his teachers never gave his class homework over the weekend. Mycroft’s little brother tended to get bored very easily, so he had to find different ways to cope with it. Knowing a secret he wouldn't tell Mycroft was obviously not enough.

Mycroft made himself a strong coffee and sat down. While he ate his breakfast he finally read the note. He looked at the clock on the wall next to the enterence and smiled to himself. Enough time to eat and dress up properly. And when he'd see L he surely will recognise him.

Dressed up in a shirt and suit trousers, wearing a coat over it he left his house and made his way to London. He decided to take a bus instead of asking anyone to drive him or taking a cab. He didn't want to pay too much that day.

When he finally arrived at 11 Denmark Street he looked at the sign above the store. “Musicroom” it said. There it was. Mycroft just had to go inside and find a familiar face of a boy from his school who was most possibly smoking as well.

He went inside and looked around when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Mycroft turned around.

“Hello Mycroft.” Leif-Eric Johanson, the boy whose parents were obsessed with the vikings, had put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder making him flinch and look around to him fastly. The boy should have been in the last school year but for a few private reasons he had to repeat the class and so he was in the same as Mycroft. They barely shared a few words this year and Mycroft had already crossed him out because Leif-Eric usually wanted to be called 'Eric' and Mycroft was sure that he was not at all interested in him.

Mycroft himself didn't like him that much either. He had long blonde hair, wore dark cloths and band t-shirts almost the whole year. Of course he was a musician, Mycroft thought and put on a fake smile on his face: “Eric.”

“I was wondering if I meet someone I know 'round here.” He said with a wry smile. “I planned to come here with a friend but he told me yesterday that he had other plans coming up. You're good in our Music class, aren't you?”

“Yes. I am very interested in music in my free time. This is why I'm here.” Mycroft told him, still not sure what to expect. If he really was L he had chosen a very offensive way to tell Mycroft that it was him. He looked up and down on him. He could see a something in his jacket pocket what suspiciously like a pack of cigarettes. He had to be L.

Leif was a musican, so he could write poems as well. He seemed cheeky enough, was older, smoked and he was the only one from his school in this store. Slowly Mycroft got used to the thought and decided to spend the time with that boy. Going now would be impolite.

“I want to buy a new guitar. I love Tally but she's accustic and for the things my band and I plan we need an electric guitar. I think you can help me there...”

<>

In the opposite store to the building where Mycroft was in Greg was waiting. Nervously wandering through the music store. Sometimes he looked at the guitars hanging on the walls, the drum sets in one corner and the flutes in another. Everytime the doorbell rang he looked up, just to feel a sting in his chest. Something had to be gone wrong but he didn't know what.

Two and a half hours later Greg paid for a new pack of guitar strings and left the store, miserabely lighting a cigarette for his way back to his motorcycle. Just because one part of his plan hadn't worked he wouldn't give up so easily. He hadn't remembered that on the other side of the street there was the smaller part of the store.

If he had remembered he'd seen that Mycroft and Leif-Eric were almost leaving that part of the store together, ready have to take a smoke and go home right in the other direction.

_*_*_*_  
<>

Sunday. The worst day of the week, Mycroft thought and went downstairs. It was the only day they were supposed to eat breakfast together. The whole family had to sit around the table and share stories about their last week. Hopefully Sherlock would keep silent about L and everything including him.

He sat down at the table on his seat. „Good morning.“ He murmured and took a toast and marmelade. His parents looked up and gave him a loving smile. Then their attention was taken by Sherlock.

Usually either the youngest or the oldest started talking. Mostly they switched every week. And of course it had to be Sherlock who started today. Mycroft leaned back in his seat and tried to look less tensed than he felt.

"I had a class test on Wednesday and got one back on Friday." Sherlock started, not looking interested in this himself. He just did it because he had to and so Mycroft managed to relax further.

"I assume you have all points?" Mycroft asked Sherlock, signalising him he was interested. Sherlock gave him a very proud nod.

While Sherlock started talking about one of his experiments, Mycroft's thoughts drifted off.

Did L put another message in his post box? Or would he let him be now because he found out who he was? Was L going to stop it, now that Mycroft knew who he was? But why hadn’t he told him anything then? He gave him no hint. Hadn’t asked him if he had plans for the Valentine's Day.

Could he – Mycroft Holmes – have been wrong this time? Secretly Mycroft hoped for that. He didn't want this to be over now. He hoped it wasn't Eric. He wished it wasn't Eric. Even if he looked quite handsome he definitely wasn't Mycroft's type.

“I'm sorry.” He said suddenly. “I don't feel very well. I'm going out for a while.”

Matthew Holmes frowned. It wasn't too often that he saw Mycroft acting this way. The fast mood swing, Interrupting Sherlock and lying about feeling sick… Something wasn't right with his son. But he wouldn't push him now. Sooner or later he'd know what was going on anyway.

His wife Violet nodded at their son with a soft look in her eyes. Her worry weighed out her surprise when one of their children said they felt sick even if it happened as fast as it happened now.

Mycroft saw his father's deep, doubting frown but still stood up. He knew his father was more distrusting than his mother but right now he didn't care about that. He had to go out and clear up his mind.

He left the kitchen, put on his shoes and a coat over his pyjamas. He didn't plan to stay out there for too long.

He hid behind a tree, leaned against it and looked into the morning sky. His hand slipped in his pocket and he took out a cigarette, lit it and took a deep drag. Should he still look into the mailbox even if he wasn't cartain about finding anything?

Another drag. Slowly he watched the smoke rise. Why not? It wouldn't change anything if he did. He finished his cigarette and went back to the house taking the way to the mailbox. He opened it. And there was another note.

He took it and went to the back of their house where he sat down on a bench. He looked over the small garden and took a deep breath.

 _Have you been there yesterday?_  
_It's sad that we haven't met then._

 _Don't forget, Valentine's Day is in three days._  
_You aren't giving up now, are you?_

_Enjoy your Sunday._

_\- L x_

Mycroft stared for a while at the paper. So Leif-Eric hasn't been the one. But who else could L have been then? He hadn't seen anyone else from his school. Was Eric making fun of him now? Or maybe… maybe they had misunderstood each other? But this wasn't possible… there has been an adress. He took his phone from his coat pocket and looked the adress up again.

"No…" Mycroft whispered. He had done so much wrong the day before. And there was another. Why was the store split up on two sides of a street? Why wasn't Mycroft more observant? He would have seen the real L.

Instead he spent 3 hours of his life talking to someone about electric guitars who wasn't even interested in him. He was doing his best to get to know him better – for nothing. On the other hand he now didn't need to keep up with the guy again.

Still. He had been wrong.

Another thing he wouldn't tell Sherlock. Especially not when his brother knew who L was.

He folded the paper together neatly and went inside again because he was getting cold and decided to spend the rest of that day upstairs. Reading, distracting himself and not seeing the rest of his family was exactly what he needed now.

He had almost no names with L on his list anymore and he wasn't sure who else was playing in a band or played guitar.

He didn't even know if guitar was what L was playing? Maybe it was the violin. In combination with him playing piano they'd be good in playing some classical music compositions.

But guitar would interest him more. Mycroft loved watching guys playing those instruments. They weren't as loud as drums and they also didn't sound too terrible when they played something wrong.

A wrong played tone on the violin sounded dreadful. He still remembered the first weeks of Sherlock's violin practice.

He often wished he'd throw it out of the window while he was sleeping.

Sometimes he still was annoyed by Sherlock's music.

He took the Lord of the Rings book from his nightstand he always read when he didn't have to work for school, was upset or needed to get distracted from too many thoughts. He opened it and kept on reading.

So the day was passing and he went to bed quite early.

_*_*_

The next day he had trouble to make his mother let him go to school without confessing his lie from the day before. He came later than usual and had to hurry up this time. He didn't even have the time to look in the locker as he usually did.

He wanted to look into it in the first break but it didn't work out as he planned again. He saw Eric and his friends in the hall, very close by Mycroft's locker. He felt like an idiot but couldn't help it. He disappeared in the crowd and avoided meeting the boy as well as possible. It was enough that they were in the same room for the whole school day. It was embarrassing.

Finally, lunchbreak. Mycroft left the classroom first this time. He barely was patient enough to wait until the teacher finished the lesson, then he was off. He rushed to the locker, opened it as fast as possible and saw it. There was the note.

 _Two days left._  
_I'm very excited._

 _If you feel the same_  
_I'll be delighted._

 _Maybe on Wednesday_  
_we'll be united._

_\- GL_

Mycroft smiled slightly and noticed his ears getting warmer. He surely was blushing now. And the whole school could see it, if they cared for him. Luckily nobody said anything to him. He put the note into his pocket to the other notes. This time he had written 'GL' beneath the poem.

Was it another tipp?  
He could only say, that it was the same person as the days before. Same style of writing, same paper, same used pen and the same scent from the paper.

So L had been his last name.

Mycroft hurried in his class. He needed to sort his thoughts, feelings and the newly found information.

As he began to note down his thoughts, the teacher entered the room. Mycroft cursed innerly, put the notes in a shelf beneath his desk and prepared himself for the questions which might come now in a test.

After finishing the class test, they always were allowed to leave the classroom and as it was the last lesson for that day they also left school and went home immediately.

Mycroft was one of the first in his class to give his paper to the teacher and leave. He took his backpack mindlessly and hung it over his right shoulder. Only when he left the school building he remembered the notes he put under his desk. The notes he wanted to compare, to go through for more evidence for the idea. For the name which came in his head when he read GL.

But it wasn't possible for him to be 100 % sure about it, even if he remembered the texts on the cards and the hand writing. He had to read them again. More carefully. Take in all the details he might have missed. Focussing on the only person who started with G and who's last name started with L he knew could be a big mistake. There were more GLs in his school than only Gregory Lestrade.

Because if he would concentrate on Greg Lestrade only and it wasn't Greg he was quite sure he wouldn't only be embarressed he also would loose his former best friend forever.

He went home and tried to remind himself of any other names with the initials G.L.

Gary Laningham, George Laurence, Graham Lesley, Gerome… Greg Lestrade…

Or maybe it even was the same as for Leif-Eric. Just the other way around.. Someone who's always called with their second name which starts with an L but their first is a G-name?

George-Lance, Graham-Lucas, Giovanny-Leroy, Gevin-Lennox…

Mycroft arrived his house and went straight upstairs. Before anyone could distract him he had to at least prepare the list for the next day. So he could cross out all the not-fitting names, as he had done with L.

He was getting more nervous with every thought he spent about GL and how close he must be to solve the riddle. To find out who he was.

He pushed his conclussion away - that he needed at least three hints of the other person to find out who he was - aside before he went to bed and tried to fall asleep. His heart was beating fast with excitement. It took him hours until he finally drifted off in a deep sleep.

_*_

One day until Valentine's Day. Mycroft arrived as punctual as usual and took his usual way to his locker. He opened it and looked inside. He took the very small note and unfolded it.

_Text me if you know my name. -GL_

This time it was very short and still it was enough to make Mycroft's curiosity rise again. He would find out who GL was before Valentine's Day and he'd text him.

If he liked him of course.

If that wasn't the matter, he wouldn't text GL.

  
But in that moment Mycroft had a very good feeling about the person who was hidden behind the initials. Mycroft went into the class and began to write down everything he knew and the names from the list which were fitting in the categories.

 _GL:_  
_\- Must be a singer, writer or poet… (Gary, Graham, George, Gevin, Gregory)_  
_\- knows that I play piano (Gregory, Gerome)_  
_\- He also knows I am homosexual (Gregory - told him, George - Stood next to Greg and me, could also have told others)_  
_\- knows where my house is. (Gregory, George)_  
_\- smokes (Gregory, George, Giovanny, Gabriel, Gevin)_  
_\- took care of valentine's roses (Gregory Lestrade, Graham, Gevin, Gary)_  
_\- I think he likes me (George, Graham, Gregory, Gabriel)_  
_\- knows that I'm curious (Gregory, Graham)_  
_\- knows I have his number (Graham, Gerome, Gabriel, Gevin, Gregory)_  
_\- Sherlock knows him (Gregory)_

Mycroft leaned back and put his hands over his eyes, massaging his head with his fingers. That was it. He went through everything and the result was clear. So he was right. And there was the proof. His name was written on the paper.

Gregory Lestrade.

<>

Greg sat in his chair by the desk close to the window. This lesson was dull and he honestly would be glad if he could just skip it or press some fast-forward button on a remote control. Suddenly he saw someone outside walking to the gates of the school yard. He looked very familiar.

He sat up straighter and recognized his red hair and the way he was walking. It almost seemed as if he was fleeing. At least he was faster than usual, Greg thought. And he left in the mid of the school day. Something was wrong.

Or maybe it was right? Maybe this was how Mycroft Holmes reacted when he solved a long lasting riddle and he was very excited or happy about it? The other possibility was that he could have left school because he was shocked by the results of his research.

Greg hoped very much for the first option.

He waited the whole day. Looked at his phone every few seconds. Some of his friends started making fun of him. Some counted the seconds he didn't look at his phone but Greg didn't really care. This was too important now. Too important to let himself be distracted by a few guys who had no idea what was going on in his head.

At home he still waited for his phone to make a sound but nothing happened. At 11 PM he decided it was time to go to sleep. To wait for one or twelve hours more didn't matter now anyways. Mycroft hadn't texted him yet and slowly he doubted that he'd ever text him.

He went to bed and connected the phone to the charger as it suddenly started to buzz in his hand. A text. Nervously he unlocked his phone and opened the notification.

Mycie

Good evening. -MH

You are texting me! -GL

Of course I do. You wanted that. -MH

So you found out? -GL

Obviously. -MH

Of course. -GL

Do you have plans for tomorrow? -MH

I do. But I thought I'd surprise you. -GL

Another surprise? -MH

Problem? -GL

No, no - it's fine, really. I suppose I  
was surprised already. -MH

Great then… See you tomorrow? -GL

Greg waited for a few more minutes and then looked at the time. He sighed. So Mycroft wouldn’t text him tonight again, that was for sure.

<>

_ And now the day had come. Valentine’s Day_

 

 

That morning Mycroft had been very excited. From all the Ls in his school, Greg was the one he had secretly admired over the years. And now the day had come.

He put on his school uniform as usual but today he wanted to do something special with his hair. Usually he just combed his hair to one side and left it that way. This time he decided for a bit more product. He looked in the mirror and smiled at himself. He was ready.

He left his room and went downstairs, avoiding the kitchen to not see Sherlock or his parents. They'd only ask questions or worse … the'd give him a knowing look or a wink. That'd make him sick.

He went to school enjoying the fresh wind. He didn’t know if that was how being in love felt like. The excitement was like those famous butterflies in his stomach who everyone was talking about.

He entered the school building and directly took his way to the locker. Nothing unusual in there. Mycroft put the notes from the last week into the locker and smiled at them before he closed the door again and froze when he saw Greg leaning against the locker next to him.

“Hey, Mycie.” Greg said with an amused gleam in his eyes. “D'you mind meeting right after school? Or do you want to go home first… Just tell me. I'll pick you up there.”

“After school would be just fine. By the enterence?”

“Yeah, that's good. Trust me, you'll like what I've planned.” Greg said with a wink at Mycroft.

Mycroft shrugged. His lip curled up in a smile. “We'll see.” By then he wasn't even sure if he'd manage to wait until the afternoon. For a moment he was tempted to offer Greg to take that day off. Something had to be utterly wrong in his head. He could just try not to show his excitement openly.

Another grin from Greg before he turned away to go to his classes. Mycroft stood there for another few seconds. He had to push down the thoughts about the surprise Greg had planned for him before he went into the classroom. No distractions. Slowly he started to walk in the direction constantly telling himself that he already waited for a week. A few more hours didn't mean anything.

Mycroft got his class test back. That was faster then he expected. The result wasn’t even too bad considering he had been distracted by notes from a stranger and completely new feelings. He put the test away and listened to his teacher more concentrated than the days before.

The time went by and by the end of the lesson it was getting harder with every passing minute to sit still. He was craving for a cigarette. In his lunchbreak he escaped to the usual place. Greg was there, as well as the others. Dean was holding a girl in his arms that Mycroft didn’t know. Mel and Bill were watching them with amused smiles. Mycroft was sure they were already making fun of the couple. Greg’s eyes, though, were pinned on Mycroft as soon as he came closer. His eyes were softer than usual he thought.

Was he supposed to hug Greg now or did Greg want to keep their date secret? He himself didn’t want Bill and Mel to know it now. So he decided to greet everyone with his usual polite smile.

“D'you have fire, Dean?” he asked and interrupted an uncomfortably long lasting eye contact between Dean and his girl.

“Of course.” Dean said and snapped his Zippo lighter open and Mycroft held his cigarette above it.

Mycroft did his best to relax. His eyes lay on the girl in Dean’s arms.

“Her name’s Harry.” Mel said: “I had no idea she was even interested in anyone.” She explained to Mycroft who nodded without really listening to her words.

“To me she once said I am not ‘er type.” Bill mused.

“I don’t like people who smoke.” Harry explained with a shrug and cuddled into Dean’s arms.

Mycroft finished his cigarette soon. The tension was too much for him. Watching Dean openly hug his girlfriend. Not knowing if he was allowed to hold Greg that way at all. He said goodbye and waved shortly at them. His eyes met Greg’s for a second and he couldn’t hold back a small smile.

Another three hours later Mycroft finally was done with the last lesson for that day. He packed his things together and stood next to the school enterence.

“Oi, Mycroft!” Greg shouted. Mycroft looked up and catched a helmet which was flying towards him.

“You’re lucky I am good at this.” He said and slowly took his way to the waiting Greg. He didn't see the need to show him how excited he really was by now. He'd probably know soon enough.

“I know you have many talents.” Greg winked and offered him his hand when Mycroft was close enough.

Mycroft took it shyly. It was ridiculous. He knew him for years now and that he felt different was… absurd. Greg squeezed his hand gently and tugged him with him. Of course he brought him to his motorcycle.

Greg grinned widely. “Ever sat on something like this?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Isn’t it cold?”

“Maybe… but you won’t notice it when we drive, trust me.”

Greg took a seat and patted him on the back. “Put your helmet on and come up…” He said and took his own helmet from the handlaber.

Mycroft joined him and noticed Greg guide his arms around him. He held onto him and felt more nervous with every passing second.

Greg put his helmet on.

He started the motorbike.

Mycroft tightened his grip and he could feel him chuckle through his jacket. They haven't been so close to each other before and this was so intimate on a level Mycroft couldn't yet fully comprehend. For a moment he asked himself if Greg could feel his increased heartbeat through his coat as well.

They drove for a few minutes. Or maybe it even was half an hour. Mycroft didn’t realise how fast the time passed. He only felt the wind around the two of them, the wamth from Greg, who he still was holding on. He loosened his grip a bit as he got more comfortable on the vehicle. He didn't move away though. After all there was Greg who made him willing to stay in contact. When Greg started moving Mycroft looked around. He had been too distracted to notice where Greg had been driving to. When he parked the motorcycle Mycroft carefully climbed down and was followed by Greg.

“There we are…”

“Where are we?” Mycroft asked and looked around.

“We're at my favourite place… I think you know the park already but I doubt you’ve watched the sunset here yet. Especially not with the view and in winter. Everything looks better when it’s cold outside, trust me.”

Mycroft nodded. He didn’t really believe that it would be so special but they were together and that was already exciting enough. He recognised the park as the Greenwich park. As his parents lived nearby he spent a lot of time there in the summer when he was younger. Greg had been absolutely right when he said he never saw anything there in winter. In winters he prefered to stay at home or in the small garden of his parents.

“You’ve missed a lot of things around here. I have to show you one of them today. C'mon.” Greg made an awkward guesture in a into the general direction.

  
They walked along a path silently for a few minutes. Mycroft liked it, but he also felt like he had to talk to ease the tension that had build up inside him.

“Are you aware what time it is?”

“Sure, why?”

“It’s just... getting dark already.”

Greg gave him a nod. He had noticed it as well and innerly cursed the circumstances. There have been so many of them which didn't fit together properly. If only they'd manage to arrive at the point before sunset. He looked at Mycroft from the cornerof his eyes. Did he see how nervous he actually feel?

Another few minutes were passing while the boys walked next to each other. Greg swallowed thickly. He knew that he'd probably miss the sunset but that didn't stop him hoping. “We have time until 5:15. I think it'll start then.”

Mycroft shook his head as he looked at his mobile phone. “Sunset has been 17 minutes ago...” Mycroft noted and bit his lip slightly. He wasn't sure if that was what Greg expected when he took him along. Did he just kill the good atmosphere?

Greg didn't seem to mind. His fingers lightly touched Mycroft's hand while they were walking next to each other.

“I'm sorry, this wasn't what you expected to hear from me, right?” Mycroft couldn't stop himself from talking.

Greg shook his head: “I just hoped we'd be there punctually. It's not your fault that we aren't. But don't worry... I'll have another idea.” Greg smiled. He looked at the sky and felt relief. The darkening sky looked clear enough. “We'll watch the stars.”

“What a spontanious change of plans.” Mycroft smiled at Greg. He walked slightly closer so their hands met more often. He wasn't brave enough yet to take Greg's hand without him really offering it.

“I know. This is just one thing I'm good at.”

“Will I find out a few more of them today?” Mycroft asked the other and looked at him fromthe corner of his eye. Two seconds later Mycroft deeply regreted what he had said. This sentence could be the most misunderstandable (thing) he'd ever said. Did Greg understand what he meant or.. or was his concentration more on the second meaning? Which was so intimate that he hadn’t even considered it before. He looked up and glanced at Greg.

Greg stared at Mycroft. He didn't hide his amusement at all. He snorted. “Oh my god! Are you really trying to _flirt_ with me?” He asked and chuckled again. He could see that Mycroft's face was getting darker. He noticed his date felt uncomfortable.

Still giggling he took Mycroft's hand and squeezed it shortly. It wasn't his intension to make him feel that way. He wanted to see him smile again. “How ‘bout we take a bit more time for that, eh?“

He didn't understand why Greg held his hand. This sentence. He'd not meant it that way, but still Greg must be offended. What did he even like about his strange attempts of conversation. When Greg squeezed his hand he came back to reality. And he realised that Greg said something. “Wait, you want to see me again? I-I mean you want to do this again?”

“Yes of course I want that. D’you think I’ve been doing this only to not be alone on Valentine’s Day?“

Mycroft nodded silently and tried to take his hand away from Greg's. Suddenly he felt insecure but Greg wouldn't let him go. He didn't want to let go yet. Mycroft swallowed. “I thought you were...“ He admitted quietly.

“I wouldn't take so much effort in someone I want to see only for one afternoon. You are more important to me. - Did you like the notes?“

“Yes.“ Mycroft said and slowly came closer again. He stopped trying to pull his his hand away. “It was thrilling to find out who wrote them. Can you imagine how many people with first names starting with L we have in our school?“

“I didn't want to make it too easy. I know you're secretly loving such games.“

“I enjoy them a little bit. But not when I have to spend a whole night thinking that the person who wrote them was someone like... Leif-Eric. I spent three hours in that music shop and tried to help him to choose an electric guitar.“

“So you were the guy he mentioned yesterday... he didn't say your name but that's explaining a lot.“

“Do you want to buy an electric guitar soon? I can give you some advice.“ Mycroft said dryly.

Greg shook his head. “I have my old one, Tally. I think you still remember her... She's still working perfectly. D'you want to come over and listen this weekend?“

Mycroft smiled. “This offer is indeed something I'd like to look forward to.“

Greg pushed him in the side playfully just before they started the way to the platform. For a while as they went upstairs to the place where they’d sit and enjoy the great view. The light went darker and the clouds were getting thicker above their heads. Greg’s face wasn’t confident when they arrived the platform. Talking to Mycroft had detraced him from watching what happened up there. His tension was still there but he still tried to cover it with his usual smile.

“Well, guess there aren't even stars to watch today.” he noticed as the first raindrops started falling down on them.

“I don’t mind.” Mycroft said and slowly, carefully took the other’s hand. He knew that Greg must've been disappointed about the new circumstances. Maybe this would make him feel better. He wanted to show him that he still was just glad about being with Greg.

Mycroft didn't look at the other's face. He was sure he was blushing and even if it wasn't visible in this light he felt a bit nervous about it. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. His mind slowed down. Greg wanted to meet him more often. He would like to have more than one date with him.

After a few seconds he raised his head and glanced in Greg's direction. “I'm looking forward to Saturday...”

Greg gave him a silent smile and squeezed his hand.

Both of them turned their heads to the skyline of London.

The rain was getting heavier but they just kept on standing there together. Silently. Enjoying the view.

He didn't know how much time had passed. Mycroft turned his head at the same time as Greg. His wet hair fell into his face and he smiled at him shyly.

Slowly Mycroft put his hand on the other’s cheek, just to stroke the hair back and out of his eyes.

Suddenly Mycroft felt a cool hand on his own cheek. He leaned in and automatically tilted his head.

It was his first kiss. He felt Greg’s lips brush his own and responded quickly, making the kiss last longer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day…” Greg whispered against Mycroft’s lips and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

Mycroft smiled back and just leaned in for another kiss. It seemed that he really liked kissing. Or maybe he just liked kissing Greg. He didn't really care what it was.

They were together now.

Right there nothing else mattered.

 


End file.
